shampoo, cut and counsel

A funny thing happened to me on the weekend. I got a haircut.

 

Hairdressers, taxi drivers, bar keeps, all have one thing in common – they become our mini-therapists, an outlet for our ramblings. Only this time I listened while she unburdened, and it was nice.

 

She’s only a few years older than me, going through similar relationship problems, the same self-doubt, same race against the biological clock, same difficulty growing up and being nice to your body. All the same “why me”, “what else can go wrong” questions.

 

A great thing about spontaneous therapy sessions: it flows both ways. Both people benefit.

 

I’m not sure what she took from me, but I will take this piece of advice from her: you have to treat yourself as someone else you’ve been charged with the responsibility of caring for.

 

How many times will we drop everything for a friend in need, but when we’re the ones suffering, we brush it aside?

 

I’m totally guilty of neglecting myself and it’s one more thing my poor body has to deal with.  I need to be kinder to myself, feed me good food, take me for regular exercise, and make sure I have my play time. All things I don’t do.

 

I have to become my own observer and guide. I’ve spent too long looking outwards unsuccessfully trying to find some other person to take care of me.

 

So, here’s a thanks to random people we call strangers, but who are in fact close friends we didn’t know existed, here to help us on our journey.

price check on me please

I don’t know what I ever did to cupid to piss him off so much but that little cherub has been kicking my arse for way too long now. Time to stop.

 

Seriously, how much more bad love karma can I have?

 

I really am over being made to feel like a chump, hanging around purely for someone else’s amusement.

 

This week I hit the realisation that someone means more to me than I do to them. It’s not nice, and I’m doing everything I can to make sure that doesn’t turn into feeling totally powerless, deflated, deficient.

 

I belittle myself to put up with that. I sell myself short. I am worth more than that. I’m worth wooing, dammit.

 

A person is worth love. A person is not worth indifference.

 

So, cupid, you fat little s.o.b, cut me a little slack ok?

baby steps (or: my neighbours suck)

I started a new blog space yesterday which you can check out here, if you so desire. I consider it the hyde to my jekyll, in that I’m attempting to make it a space where only the happyjoy moments in my day make it through.

 

It may be a very sparse blog indeed.

 

I am compelled to try the positive thing though. For too long I have been feeding the awful horrible stressful painful moments of my life. It’s time to balance things out, refocus my eyes and see the other side.

 

This is day two. I’ve hit struggletown.

 

I’m tired, and I can’t go to sleep because the neighbours, the idiotic geriatric psychopathic turdfaces who really need to move the hell back to Koondoola or whatever other bogan hole they crawled out of, decided they suddenly wanted to listen to music very loudly, at 1130 at night. No, not until 1130 at night, from 1130 at night. God knows when they’ll decide to turn it off and go to bed. Midnight’s been and gone. Could be a while.

 

Thing is, I moved myself and my pillow out of my bedroom at the back of the house and onto the couch at the front of the house because they were out the back crapping on. With my positive bent I thought, ‘how exciting, breaking it up a bit, sleeping on the couch for the night! And yay, it’s so mild tonight I don’t even need a blanket’.

 

Now they’re pumping (shitarse) tunes in the lounge which shares a common wall with mine, while they sit out the back wasting perfectly good air that should be used for more worthwhile purposes than filling their lungs. Therefore, I can’t sleep anywhere in silence until they decide to shut the fuck up.

 

If someone hadn’t already started a fuck-my-life blog, I could have made a lot of money by now.

 

endrant. beginspin.

 

Every single situation has a seed of positive. What I’m trying to train myself to do with the new blog is notice the good seeds more. I know I’m going to have to be content with baby steps. I’m going to fall over on my face a lot. But at least I’m trying.

 

So, the good right now, right at this moment when my eyes are hanging out of my head and my own homespace is not my own, is that I’m writing. I started this blog to write, and haven’t done that for a while. This crappy situation has brought me back. Yays.

 

And it will be so fun at 6am tomorrow morning when I have to get up, to crank the drum and bass right next to their bedroom wall.

 

Oh yes, I think I’ll have a very positive grin on my face tomorrow morning.

‘tis the season to be expletive deleted

Christmas can kiss my arse.

 

Yes, this is a rant.

 

I am over it. I just want to go away somewhere and enjoy being happy. By myself. No commitments to anyone else but myself.

 

Why the fuck do we put ourselves through this every single year? Most of us don’t believe the belief behind it anyway. We are pushed into having Christmas by commercialism. Buy buy buy – under the pretence of caring and sharing and giving instead of receiving and it’s all bollocks.

 

This is the most stressful time of the year. Suicides, depression, deaths, misery, divorce, road rage, shopping rage; people generally going psycho.

 

Is it like one final worldly purge of karma for the year? Is a greater being sitting up there with a big-arse wooden spoon stirring extra hard at the end of the year, dredging up any unfinished business, buried secrets, anything that needs to be addressed instead of repressed?

 

Seriously, everything and everyone kicks into manic overdrive. I can’t take any more stress. I don’t want any more politics. I am over trying to juggle everyone else’s feelings at the expense of my own. Everyone needs to grow the fuck up.

 

It’s just a date on a calendar; everything else that comes with it is spewed forth by us.

 

If I was floating in space looking back at the earth right now I suspect it would have a grey-green tinge to it. The world is sick right now.

 

I can’t wait for Christmas to be done with.

heart

 

the world is poking

the little heart

inside my chest

 

collected teardrops

remain unshed

and pound my breast

 

my aura wavers

unsteadily

around my frame

 

i’m not sure how much

longer my heart

can play this game

pang

The games we play with each other drain me.

 

Why all the power plays? Why the hurt? We believe someone’s wounded us and we strive to wound them back. Why?

 

An unanswered call. His mind goes into overdrive: Why is she not answering? What’s she doing? Is she trying to get the upper hand in the relationship? Is she purposely making me wait around for her? I don’t like the waiting around feeling; being the one with no power. She’s discovered how much I actually yearn for her. I’ve been found out; heart laid bare.

 

I know: I’ll hurt her back. Feign indifference. Stop calling her. Make her wait. Make her think the rest of my life is suddenly much more interesting than the part with her in it. Make her feel like I couldn’t give a rats whether we chat or not; edge my voice with cold. Then I will have the power and she will be the one waiting, wondering, weaving stories in her head.

 

See how she likes that.

 

 

It’s so childish. It makes my heart hurt. I don’t like it. Stop it.

symphonic understanding

I’ve been watching some of the WASO concerts online (West Australian Symphony Orchestra) and it’s taking me back to my days playing in the school concert band and singing in the choir during my music scholarship years - the shivers up the spine when the whole orchestra reaches the same level of passion for a massive crescendo, the joy of a perfectly harmonised moment in a favourite piece. Ah, good times.

 

I always preferred to sing and play the harmonies rather than the leads.  I preferred to be the flavouring rather than the main ingredient; be the counterpoint. I hated it when I was thrust into the first clarinet position (probably by default) and had to plod along in the main melodies.

 

I never wanted to stand out, never wanted to be the soprano in the limelight, or the acclaimed soloist getting the glory. I always thought the harmonies had the more interesting parts. Even now, humming along to Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, and yes that old chestnut, Handel’s Messiah, I’m singing the harmony instead of the tune.

 

I’ve only now realised the correlation between that and the rest of my life: I always thought I just didn’t like to lead, I liked to follow, but that’s not it at all. I just prefer the second fiddle because it’s so much more interesting.

 

The main melody on it’s own is ok, but with harmony behind it, it pops.

 

Lately I’ve been thinking I had a character flaw by not having the drive or urge to sit at the top of the tree, and now I realise it’s because I prefer the much more interesting life in the middle branches.

 

Missing out on a job for a higher position last week has made me question my whole character, and I’m so over it. There’s nothing at all wrong with me not wanting to take the lead. So there.

 

Alto for life.